Chanson
by vladfan
Summary: Songfic. Fleur decides to take matters between Harry and Ron into her own hands. All characters belong to JK Rowling, all lyrics belong to Stephen Schwartz.
1. Chapter 1

_Chaque jour est un jour_

_Comme les autres doux jours _

_Le potage, l'ouvrage _

_Peut-etre l'amour _

_Le soleil, il voyage _

_Le monde fait un tour _

_Ainsi cest toujours le meme ..._

(Translation: Each day is a day like the next. The soup, the work, perhaps love. The sun travels across the sky, the world turns; thus, it is always the same one.)

That Fleur Weasley, _nee _Delacourt, was annoyed was nothing new. That she was annoyed with someone other than herself was.

Fleur was the kind of woman who held herself to the most exacting standards imaginable. There was nothing inherently wrong with an attitude like that; it had been just that attitude, and the attention to detail that it demanded, that had made her Beaux-Batons' representative in the TriWizard Challenge. But it also tended to make her angry with herself at least a dozen times a day, over minor slips that most people would shrug off and have done with.

And, oddly enough, Fleur did not extend her expectations to others. She cut herself absolutely no slack, and therefore had plenty left over for everyone else. For her to get annoyed with someone else was rare indeed. But right at this moment, she was very annoyed, and the object of her displeasure was her youngest brother-in-law, Ronald Weasley, and his best friend, Harry Potter.

It should be obvious, even to these English people who were so out of touch with their emotions that Fleur sometimes wondered how they even recognized them, that Ronald and Harry were in love with each other. Fleur saw it in dozens of little signs that no one else seemed to notice. At this rate, she herself would be a great-grandmother (she winced slightly at the thought of being that old) before either of them finally made any sort of move. It was infuriating!

Even though she seethed with frustration inside, Fleur allowed none of her emotional tempest to spill over into the lunch she was preparing. Ronald and Harry were joining her for lunch, after all, and Fleur would no more allow herself to serve anything less than a perfect meal than she would allow herself to miscast a spell. She checked on the soup on the stove, to make sure it was simmering properly and not scorching on the bottom—

And then stopped.

She shouldn't.

She really, really shouldn't.

And Fleur turned and opened the leftmost of her cabinets, the one that held ingredients that no Muggle cookbook would ever mention……


	2. Chapter 2

_Every day as you do what you do every day,_

_You see the same faces who fill the cafe,_

_And if some of those faces have new things to say,_

_Nothing is really different._

_And the sheep dot the hill where the olive tree sways,_

_And the world spins around with the greens and the grays,_

_And you never take time out to think of the ways,_

_Everything might be different._

"Ron, come on," Harry said impatiently. "The train leaves in an hour; if we don't leave now, we're going to miss it!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Ron replied, his voice just a bit surly. "Would you tell me again why we can't just Apparate to Bill and Fleur's?"

"Because I'm still on antibiotics," Harry reminded him. "You know what the healer said—no Apparition until they're done. My system can't handle it."

Ron scowled, but didn't press the point. "What about broomsticks?"

"In broad daylight?"

"Floo Powder?"

"The network is down today, remember? Even magical transport has to undergo maintenance sometimes, Ron."

Ron muttered something under his breath. Harry chose not to make an issue of it. They'd been squabbling a lot lately, and Harry had learned to pick his battles—especially when most of those battles seemed to be over petty stuff that Harry couldn't believe either of them really cared about.

But Ron had apparently learned to pick his battles, too, because an hour's time saw them on the Muggle train to Devon, heading for Shell Cottage. Or, Harry mused, perhaps he was simply looking forward to lunch with Fleur. The French witch was one of the most amazing cooks either had ever met, and Harry's stomach was rumbling with anticipation of the meal.

He watched as the English countryside flashed by outside the train window. When Harry looked directly out of the window from the door, the outside world flashed by too quickly to be more than a blur, but looking out at an angle, he could see hills dotted with sheep and shepherds, dense forests, and beautiful meadows.

He sighed. If only his own life could be as idyllic as the scenes outside the train window. He had been giving serious thought to moving out of the flat he and Ron shared. Their friendship, once so steadfast, had been deteriorating rapidly lately, and Harry had no idea how to stop it.

"HARRY!"

Harry came back to himself with a start. Ron, his face twisted into a scowl, was glaring at him.

"Harry, what planet were you on? I told you twice we were almost there."

"Sorry," Harry said dully. "I was thinking."

Ron looked as though he was going to say something, but then apparently thought better of it. "Well, come on, then," he said shortly. "Fleur said she'd be waiting for us when we pulled in."


	3. Chapter 3

_And then one day, suddenly, something can happen_

_(It may be quite simple, it may be quite small),_

_But all of a sudden your stew tastes different,_

_And you hear the sheep bleat in a different key, _

_And you see with new eyes, _

_And the faces you see_

_Are people you don't know at all._

Fleur was as good as her word, and half an hour found the three of them in Shell Cottage, glasses of good French wine in Fleur's and Ron's hands and water in Harry's. Fleur, of course, had to divide her attention between her guests and baby Victoire, but Harry felt more relaxed than he had in days.

Still, he cast a nervous eye at his flatmate and friend—when Ron drank to excess, his temper also became excessive. But to Harry's relief, Ron was nursing his wine, never drinking more than a sip at a time, and when he finally finished his first glass, he asked Fleur for a glass of water.

"You can have eet at the table, Ron," Fleur told him with a smile over her shoulder from the kitchen, "lunch is ready!"

Harry pushed himself off the couch eagerly. Fleur was dishing soup into bowls surrounded by still-steaming brown bread, with butter and jam at the ready. "I thought we would keep it simple this afternoon," she said. "I hope I have not disappointed?"

"Never, Fleur," Ron said firmly. "You make the most wonderful food I've ever tasted!"

"Now, Ron," Fleur chided him, but with a twinkle in her eye, "you must not say such things. If your mother were to hear of it, she would be very hurt, and then very angry—and it is not true to begin with. I have some small talent in the kitchen, it is true—but your mother is in a class by herself."

"Regardless, Fleur," Harry said, around a mouthful of thick soup, "this is just magnificent. Thank you again for having us over."

Fleur smiled, and if Harry hadn't been indulging his gluttony, he would have noticed something peculiar about that smile. "It is no trouble, my dear Harry," she said. "No trouble at all."

The soup and bread were demolished in fairly short order. As Ron wiped his bowl with the last of the bread, Fleur got up and strode back to the oven. "I have not forgotten the dessert!" she promised them. She reached inside and produced a delicious-looking pie—probably berry, Harry thought.

Quick as a flash, Fleur put plates, forks, pie, and cups of tea in front of the two men. Harry cocked his head quizzically. "You're not having any?"

"_Pie_?" Fleur shrieked. "Harry, it is only just that I have regained my figure after having Victoire—would you have me be fat and ugly?"

"You could never be fat!" Ron protested.

"Or ugly!" Harry chimed in.

Fleur smiled. "You are both very kind, but it is one of the many ways life is unfair. For a man to be considered handsome, he must have big muscles—but for a woman to be considered beautiful, she must look like a twig with legs and arms. No pie for me," she finished firmly, "but please, please eat!"

Harry and Ron needed no further urging.

But as Harry swallowed his third forkful, something strange began to happen. His face began to feel very flushed, and he was having trouble breathing regularly. He stood up slowly, pushing his plate away.

"Harry?" Fleur asked in a concerned voice.

"You all right, mate?" Ron asked.

"I……I'm not sure." Harry put both of his hands on the table, to try to steady himself. "I think……I think I'd better go lie down."

He tried to step away from the table—and half collapsed as he went as dizziness hit him like a hammer. Ron and Fleur were next to him in an instant, supporting him. Slowly, they guided him over to the couch, and Harry sat on it heavily.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Ron asked, clearly frightened.

"I don't know!" Harry cried. He bent over, his head in his hands, waiting for the dizziness to fade. "I……I think I'd better get back to London."

"I'm not taking you on the train like this……" Ron began.

"Hush, Ron," Fleur told him. She stepped over to the fireplace and threw some powder in it, then got down on her hands and knees and leaned into the flames briefly. "The Floo Network is back in service," she announced, dusting herself off. "Harry, do you think you can use that to get back to your home?"

"Yeah……yeah, I think so," Harry said. "The antibiotics shouldn't be a problem with Floo Travel. Ron, a little help?" He held out his hand.

Ron clasped his hand and hauled him to his feet, catching him in his arms as Harry stood.

For some reason, being in Ron's arms was making Harry feel very awkward.

Ron guided Harry to the fireplace, and spared an arm to hug Fleur. "Say hi to Bill for us, and tell him we're sorry we couldn't have stayed later, all right?" he asked.

"But of course, Ron," Fleur said, with a smile—and this time Harry definitely saw something there. "Give my love to Hermione, when you see her."

"Will do," Ron said. As Fleur tossed another handful of powder into the fireplace, Ron shouted, "Bloke Base!"

"_That_ is what you have called your flat?" Fleur asked incredulously as Ron half-carried Harry into the fireplace.

"It's simple, straightforward, and easy to remember," Ron said over his shoulder as he vanished.

Fleur shook her lovely head, and smiled. Harry was taken care of. And as soon as Ron drank anything with alcohol, things at "Bloke Base" (_Zut!_ she thought) would get very interesting…….


	4. Chapter 4

_And the someone who touches your hair every day, _

_Touches you now in a different way, _

_And you may want to run or you may want to stay_

_Forever._

_And since life is the sound of the sheep,_

_And the taste of your stew,_

_And the way that you feel_

_When he touches you,_

_Now your whole life is different—_

_Now your whole life is new._

By the time they crawled out of the fireplace into the living room of their flat, Harry was able to stand on his own without having the room spin. He still felt very warm, however, and was conscious of his own heart beating very fast—particularly when Ron put an arm around him to steady him. "Are you sure you're okay, mate?" Ron asked, his voice still slightly shrill with worry.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry assured him. "Let me just sit down for a minute." He eased himself onto the couch and leaned back, letting his head rest over the back. On an impulse, as Ron passed him, he reached out and took the other man's hand. "And Ron? Thanks."

Ron flushed, the kind of embarrassed blush Harry had seen for years but had never thought of as appealing—until now. "Don't worry about it." He squeezed Harry's hand, then released it. "I'm going to get a beer—you want anything?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks."

Ron nodded and left the room. The kitchen was close enough that Harry could hear him open the refrigerator door, shut it, and open a bottle.

Thirty seconds later, Ron was back. His eyes were very wide and anxious. Harry, as he stood up to meet him, could feel his own heart speed up again.

"Harry, I…"

"Ron…"

And then Ron's mouth was on his, and Ron's arms were around him, holding him close, and he felt himself responding, as if floodgates within him had burst at last.

Ron was stronger and heavier; he drove Harry back onto the couch; they fell onto the cushions in a tangle mass of arms and legs and tongues. Ron was kissing him hard, his hands reaching under Harry's arse to wrap Harry's legs around him, then reaching under Harry's shirt to stroke the hard muscles and soft skin underneath. Harry had never felt anything like this—not with Cho, not even with Ginny, and when he kissed Ron, it was with all the frustration and all the longing and all the need he'd been bottling up for months.

Somehow they managed to get to Harry's bedroom (it was closer) without breaking the kiss. Ron's hand slipped under Harry's waistband and his fingers just brushed the head of Harry's dick, and Harry almost exploded right there and then. His own hands were slipping down the back of Ron's jeans to cup his arse and hold him even tighter, and Ron began to thrust against Harry, even as Harry kicked off his shoes and socks and heard Ron do the same.

Ron shifted a little so that he was on Harry's side, and Harry's dick demanded attention. He began to rub it through his jeans, and Ron, a twinkle in his eye, began to stroke Harry's balls with his thumb. Harry reached for Ron's jeans, trying to get the button undone, and Ron immediately went after Harry's.

It turned into a race, with both men trying to get the other's pants open first—but it was a race that Ron won, and he celebrated his victory by reaching through the fly of Harry's boxers and grabbing Harry's dick in a firm grasp.

Harry gasped and again had to hold himself back from bringing things to a close too early!

And through all this, they hadn't broken the kiss. But now, Harry did, and, smiling up at Ron, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Ron started to do the same…

"Let me give you some incentive for that," Harry grinned. As Ron pulled off his shirt, Harry began to kiss and lick the abs underneath, then worked his way up to Ron's nipples to smother them with lips, tongue, and teeth.

"Oh…HARRY!" Ron gasped. Harry continue his work, and Ron stroked his hair and kissed his forehead, and Harry wondered what the hell they'd been waiting for.

Ron playfully shoved Harry down onto the couch. Harry lay there beaming up at his best friend, and Ron smiled back, a shy grin that Harry felt himself answering. "What d'you reckon was in that soup?" Ron asked.

"I have no idea," Harry said, "but Fleur just shot up to the top of my list of favorite Weasleys."

"The VERY top?" Ron asked archly. "I think I might change your mind about that."

"Maybe. How do you plan on doing that?"

"Watch and learn." Ron began to slide Harry's pants off, and Harry peeled off his underwear at the same time. Harry started to sit up, but Ron was on him again, his mouth latching hungrily onto Harry's. Harry's hands slid down Ron's muscular body and began fumbling with the waistband of the redhead's jeans and boxers. He managed to get them halfway down Ron's legs before he got his feet into the act, hooking his toes into the pants and sliding them off Ron's body.

Harry had never realized what a solid, perfectly-formed ass Ron had, but now he let his fingers explore, tracing little patterns on each buttock. He and Ron kissed and kissed and kissed, and a small part—a very small part—of Harry's head wondered how they would ever bring themselves to stop.

Not that he even remotely wanted to.

But then again……Ron's hand had drifted down to Harry's dick, and was beginning to stroke it oh-so-gently, and Harry began to think of other things he could be doing with his mouth…

But the taste of Ron….so sweet…..so wonderful……each pause in the kiss had Harry panting in anticipation for the next……

Ron was thrusting against him and Harry moved with him, their bodies pushing against each other with all their need and all their passion and all their love……

And then Ron broke the kiss altogether, and Harry looked deeply into his eyes. He could see fear there, and longing, and a little bit of guilt. "Harry," Ron said slowly, "I've been wanting this……I can't tell you how long I've been wanting this, wanting you."

"I've wanted you, too, Ron," Harry said, his voice heavy with emotion, "probably just as long."

"I wish I'd known that. That's why," Ron flushed with embarrassment, "that's why I've been such an angry git the last couple of months. Living so close to you, but not getting to BE close to you……it hurt, Harry. Real, physical pain."

"Well, you're close to me now," Harry pointed out. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Just this."

And Ron's head vanished, and scant moments later, Harry felt a warm, wet tongue sliding in circles along the head of his dick, a moment of hot breath hitting it—and then he was inside Ron's mouth.

He was INSIDE Ron's MOUTH.

Ron engulfed him all at once, and then slid his mouth s-l-o-w-l-y back up Harry's shaft, and Harry reached down and stroked Ron's thick red hair and leaned back in pure pleasure. A tiny corner of his mind wondered where in the hell Ron had learned how to do this, but the rest of his mind shouted a collective, "WHO CARES?" and cowed that tiny part into submission.

But not silence. Harry heard himself say, without really being conscious of saying it, "Where……how……Ron, where did you learn how to do this???"

Ron stopped, and let Harry out of his mouth with a loud POP! He looked puzzled. "I…don't know, mate," he admitted. "I've never done anything like this before. I never even looked at a bloke that way before," he blushed, "before we got home this afternoon.

"I just……know what would feel good to you, Harry," he continued. "I don't know how I know, but I know. I even know what'll happen when I do this…."

He lightly brushed a single finger across Harry's stomach, and Harry jerked up and gasped in pleasure. The feeling of Ron's touch—just there—almost made him climax right then.

"Lie back, mate," Ron murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Lemme get back to you."

Harry did, and Ron took him into his mouth again.

The next few minutes passed in pure ecstasy for Harry. Ron, Ron's mouth on him, Ron naked next to him—it overwhelmed his senses. He felt his head sink back over the edge of the bed. His eyes were closed, of course, out of necessity—his body was getting so much sensation that it couldn't handle any more.

Then Ron shifted position, and Harry suddenly smelled an intoxicating musk right in front of him. He opened his eyes, and sure enough—there was Ron's equipment dangling over his nose.

Only one thing to do, after all.

Harry opened his mouth, and let Ron's dick drop down right into it. Driven almost wild by need, he sucked it hungrily, like a nursing baby, while his hands stroked and squeezed Ron's muscular legs.

He'd never noticed before how smooth Ron's skin was.

What a strange thing not to know about your best mate.

They stayed that way for a long time, Ron propped up on his hands and knees to give Harry some breathing room, making love to Harry's dick, his hips thrusting into Harry's mouth, while Harry's throat stretched hard to take it all, and his hands slid over the hard muscles of Ron's back and shoulders. But finally, Ron lifted himself off of Harry and turned around to kiss him.

"Stand up," Harry murmured.

"What?"

"Stand up. I want to look at you."

Ron smiled, and got slowly to his feet. Before Harry could even get the words out of his mouth, he began to flex like a posing bodybuilder, showing off first one bulging bicep, then the other, then turning forward so Harry could feast his eyes on the massive chest tapering down to a narrow waste, the flat stomach, the powerful legs—and what lay in between.

Harry couldn't help himself. He sat up and lunged for Ron's dick, his mouth open and ready. He took the huge organ all at once with one gulp and slid it quickly out of his mouth. Ron held onto the wall to steady himself, and Harry, with a grin, saw that Ron's knees really were buckling.

He did it again.

And again.

And again and again and again, with Ron's moans filling his ears and Ron's fingers buried deep in his hair. Harry knew nothing but need, and that need was Ron, Ron, and only Ron.

And then Ron pulled out of his mouth with a loud POP! He bent over and took Harry's face in his hands. There was need there, too—but need mixed with fear.

"Harry," he said. "Do you wanna try to…"

"Yes," Harry said firmly. "Gods, yes."

"I-I've never done this before with a bloke," Ron mumbled. "How do we?"

Harry sat back on his haunches and thought for a second. "Well, one of us has to go into the other's arse," he said. "After that, it must be just like doing it with a girl, I expect."

"Probably," Ron agreed. "Only problem is—who goes into who?"

"Shoot for it?"

"You're on. On three. One, two, three…."

Harry threw a rock, but Ron threw paper. He laid his hand on Harry's fist and smiled. "Guess you lost, mate."

"Guess I WON."

Ron smiled, a shy smile that Harry hadn't seen on his face in years. He leaned back onto the bed and lifted his legs in the air—he had no idea how he knew to do that, but his instincts had never let him down before.

Ron spat in his hand and rubbed it on his dick, then spat some more and rubbed it into Harry's arse—Harry gasped when the wetness touched his hole. Ron got between Harry's raised legs, his dick in his hand—and Harry felt it against him.

It felt really big.

REALLY big.

And Ron's spit was already drying.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

A second later, Harry knew it wasn't a good idea. Ron had barely pushed half a centimeter into him, and Harry yelped in pain. "No……no……Ron, hold off!"

Ron almost threw himself across the room away from Harry. He began to moan, "Oh, gods, mate, I'm so sorry, I…"

"It's all right," Harry said quickly. "Really, it's fine!"

Ron shook his head. "How do blokes do this without killing themselves?"

"There has to be a way," Harry said. He was surprised at the note of determination in his voice—he hadn't heard THAT in a while, either. He thought hard, trying to think of anything that would work—and then he had it.

He looked around for his wand; how he'd gotten the presence of mind to lay it carefully on the bedside table……he grabbed it, pointed it in the general direction of the kitchen, and cried, "ACCIO CRISCO!!!!!"

There was the sound of a door bursting open, and a couple of things falling to the floor, but within seconds, a can of vegetable shortening hurtled into the room and into Harry's outstretched hand.

"Let's try this again, shall we?" he said mildly.

Ron grinned and caught the can as Harry tossed it to him. He opened it and scooped out a generous handful—obviously, they wouldn't be using this particular can for cooking anymore, and smeared it over his now-soft dick, which stiffened right back up at the attention. Ron took out another handful, and Harry quickly put himself back in the same position as before. Ron rubbed the shortening onto Harry's hole—and then into it, as Harry felt the hole opening under Ron's touch.

Ron got between Harry's legs again, and whispered, "Ready?"

"Yes."

It still hurt—but not as much. Harry gritted his teeth and concentrated on breathing away the pain. His eyes squeezed tightly shut and his fists clenched.

But gradually, the pain began to ease.

Ron began to thrust into him, short, easy strokes. Harry's dick had gone down as soon as Ron had entered him; he began to jerk it to get it hard again.

It wasn't long before it was—and it wasn't long before thick, milky-white fluid exploded from it. Harry cried out as he came, wild, guttural cries of pure, raw pleasure.

Ron gasped, "I'm…right….behind you….mate!!!!"

Still dazzled by the strength of his orgasm, Harry felt, rather than saw, Ron pull out of him—and heard Ron crying out his name then, and felt hot wetness splash across his chest and stomach …and then felt Ron collapsing on top of him.

They lay there for what seemed like forever, too spent to do much more than breathe, their bodies slowly cooling down. Ron's lips brushed against Harry's ear, and he whispered, "Love you, mate."

"I love you, too, Ron," Harry whispered back. "What time is it?"

Ron glanced upwards; Harry guessed he could see the alarm clock from where he was. "Just past six," he grunted. "What do you say to ordering in some Thai for dinner? I don't think I can move very far."

Harry smiled. "Sounds perfect, mate—and then, after dinner……"

"What?"

"It's my turn."

_Chaque jour est un jour_

_Comme les autres doux jours _

_Le potage, l'ouvrage _

_Peut-etre l'amour _

_Le soleil, il voyage _

_Le monde fait un tour _

_Ainsi cest toujours le meme ..._

That Fleur Weasley, _nee _Delacourt, was pleased should not have come as a surprise to anyone. Fleur was the kind of woman who held herself to the most exacting standards imaginable—but when she met those standards, she permitted herself just the tiniest bit of self-congratulation.

By now, she thought with a smile, things should have come to a head between Harry and Ron. She could hardly wait to tell her husband Bill about it.

Perhaps over soup……


End file.
